He Swung the Bat.
(A Flat Tire in the A.M.)
It crumbled under the weight of the vehicle like ogres dying on shalerock mountaintops, lined up across ill-advised crests of unbreathable air. Distant stars pressed on inside some unknown level of reality; attempting to please their celestial queen with flowers and jewels from a bright green spacial sphere. With a lengthy crimson cape around a stiff neck, oversized boots with spikes as far out as the talons of a sickening white griffin from the final grotto, I daunted six moss-covered sheaths. For an age old America that once hibernated peacefully like lazy autumn bears.
Testimony spread its wings and escaped a cage forged from bronze and new lies. Myths mused upon the mighty mimics of murmuring minotaurs and manipulated the milestone of mobile misidentification. Ever waiting, and sighting a coloquial allegory with a shortsword of similar oblivion (hidden under my soaking wet hauberk, its weight was not recognzied) to that of oldtown vandals, began as it once was atop a mid-sea perch not far in appearence from the spot in which I battled an anxious bird. It was after a second encounter with the student body on an entirely opposing position that I sneezed and they covertly let out what needed to be let out the most. In moderation. A curve. Followed by a sinker and a line drive, merely half an inch or so above the bottom of the strike zone. Impaled softly but with precision to disect an ant, a royal swing unlike any other resurrected the heart which woke the idle brain to capsize the sheerwalled satellite which flung the bomb so gracefully.
Strikes beyond a shadow in the sunlight of a doubt. Currently being repaired for the end of the world. Or when time returns to the norm.
Next the plate disenchantingly welcomes none other than my shivering soul.
The crowd becomes mute.
You cannot expect anyone to root for home if no one is there to begin with.
I don't care if they ever come back.
--
A new Titanic Special Edition DVD was just released yesterday.
Eric Henderson from Slant added a review:
"As Kate Winslet's own Freud-referencing character snips, Titanic is epic cinema's grandest erection, and when James Cameron's near-scale model set of the towering hulk of steel that was, at the time, the largest ship in the world severs down the middle, it then becomes the most vulgar representation of castration to ever cause millions of heartwarmed teenage girls to choke sobs into their fists. It's a ready-made sarcophagus for everything that's vulgar in mainstream cinema. Titanic both embodies and validates the excess that is its own subject. And it's arguably the most artlessly touching disaster movie of all. No, really. Time and a number of equally irony-free blockbusters in the interim (including Spielberg's War of the Worlds and the entire Lord of the Rings weep-cycle) have dulled its impact somewhat, but Titanic was Cameron's strike against technophiliac hyper-masculinity in adventure features and a splashing, pre-millennial introduction to a premonitory brand of earnest, new age spectacle."
Slant delivers the comedy.
--
No October Naps.
Attention oh ye emasculated correspondents. You think this is easy, forming fence posts and frames backwards from detail? You think someone like me needs to solicit any suggestive or cooperative onslaught in order to lose myself or to be closer? You're so far off the mark, your brain is wrung out worse than a deck mop after a pissing contest.
Repeat this phrase to yourself: "assuming facts not in evidence."
Examples:
If there is magic on this planet, it is in water.
--Rudyard Kipling
Look for complexity rather than complication.
--Paul Dukas
Lord, I know it is hard to resist! As you feel the draw remember there's no satisfaction to be had, about such a progression it would be impossible to comment.
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